She looked at the villa through her scope. She was almost certain this was the location. It was stupid for her to expose herself this way, she knew--she should delegate this task. But she couldn’t resist. The opportunity was too tempting.
To be this close . . .
Maybe see him . . .
There he was--he looked so different, but it was unmistakable. He walked across the garden and took a seat on a bench looking out over the countryside. He looked ill, tired. The silver in his hair was now overcoming the dark strands. Even from this distance, his eyes seemed to hold a certain emptiness. It was heartbreaking to see him like that. She felt more defeated than ever.
It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.
She wondered how she was going to secure a meeting with him. Sloane would have him watched at all times. He could escape their surveillance, of course, but he would have to be given reason to do so.
:throb: :throb: :throb:
Jack almost smiled as he sidestepped his security detail. They had no idea how easy it was for him now. The way the machine worked made it difficult for Jack to hide things from Sloane, but for a fraction of a second they were held only within his mind before they were externalized by the machine.
Sloane couldn’t control that.
So if he acted, Jack could shut an image down before the machine could visualize it. He wasn’t sure that Sloane was aware that he could do that, but there wasn’t much Sloane could do about it. If Sloane sent one of his psyche men to go in after a vision that Jack clamped down on, he risked harming a precision instrument. Sloane probably thinks I’m slipping away to do just that, too, Jack thought, ironically. Harm my precision instrument with a little mind-altering alcohol.
But what he’d seen in the last couple of flashes he’d suppressed were a little more interesting than a drink at a bar. He’d also surreptitiously sent out a couple of emails that Sloane wasn’t aware of. It was nice to know he still had some skills, even with Sloane looking over his shoulder virtually around the clock.
His good friend.
His partner.
And even in the short time that he’d been with Sloane, Jack’s contributions had made the partnership unbelievably successful. He had located several Rambaldi artifacts for Sloane and a few of those had already been acquired and secured. Jack was able to combine information from Il Dire with game theory to refine probabilities for the success of various operational strategies so that mission efficiency was frighteningly high. The rate of growth of their enterprise was exponential. Sloane was ecstatic. Jack was glad it kept his mind off Sydney.
Jack slipped through a couple of buildings. He knew that the doors would be unlocked in just the right locations. He didn’t need a map. He dreamed things. Sometimes he almost seemed to be connected with the machine when it wasn’t even running. Maybe he was still processing information that he picked up subconsciously when the visions were pouring through him. But he wasn’t about to tell Sloane about it. Any card he could hold face down . . .
At last he spotted his destination, a little café he knew about, a secluded one with a nice, sunny courtyard in the back. He’d be able to sit back there without prying eyes staring at him for a few minutes--at least if you didn’t count the one pair of eyes.
:throb: :throb: :throb:
Just as Irina was considering how to get a message through to Jack, she got a message from one of her outposts. Apparently they had received an anonymous email stating that Jack would appear alone at a certain café at a certain time. It was as though he knew . . .
After confirming that Jack was indeed alone, Irina observed from above and from a distance as he sat at a table in the courtyard and ordered a drink. She waited until he received it, watching as he arranged a rose in its little crystal vase on the crisp spring day. She sighed. Was she about to ruin this moment for him? A rare moment of freedom? Or would he--somehow--be happy to see her?
Quickly, silently, she trotted down the stairs, her shoes light and flexible. She looked carefully up and down the street before crossing it and moving down it towards the café. As she moved into the courtyard, an American tune started playing on the PA, and she wanted to turn back, it reminded her of Jack so much. But this was her chance.
Call you up in the middle of the night
Like a firefly without a light
You were there like a blowtorch burning
I was a key that could use a little turning
So tired that I couldn't even sleep
So many secrets I couldn't keep
I promised myself I wouldn't weep
One more promise I couldn't keep
Jack received his drink from the waiter and exchanged a few words with him. He looked into the amber liquid for a long moment, then took a long, slow sip.
It seems no one can help me now,
I'm in too deep; there's no way out
This time I have really led myself astray
Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I'm neither here nor there
Of all the people in the world, there was only one that she dreaded approaching--only one that drew her irresistibly--and that was the man before her. The conflicting emotions she felt for him surged through her, but she forced them into a hidden recess inside her mind. Quietly, she sat next to him and said, “You drink too much, Jack.”
Can you help me remember how to smile?
Make it somehow all seem worthwhile
How on earth did I get so jaded?
Life's mystery seems so faded
He didn’t look up. “I’m an addict, Irina,” he said simply. “Do you know why alcoholics drink? Of course you do. It’s not because it makes them feel good. It’s because it numbs them.”
Finally, he lifted his eyes and looked into hers. Irina was horrified by what she saw there. She had seen depths of pain in them before that she had thought impossible for a human being to experience over such simple things as betrayal and loss, but she had never before seen anything like this alien, haunted expression. Il Dire, she thought, and her heart skipped a beat.
I can go where no one else can go
I know what no one else knows
Here I am just a-drownin' in the rain
With a ticket for a runaway train
“Don’t you like what you see?” Jack asked, noticing something in her expression. “Since you left so many years ago I haven’t been particularly popular, you know--I think people would even have described me as intimidating. But now . . . now people look at me and I can see it in their faces. They no longer fear me because I’m intimidating. They fear me because I’m frightening--because I’ve become some sort of freak of nature--or force of nature, as Sloane prefers to see it.”
“Jack--” Irina said, her eyes filling with tears. “Believe me, I never meant it to turn out this way.”
And everything seems cut and dried,
Day and night, earth and sky,
Somehow I just don't believe it
Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I'm neither here nor there
“Of course I believe you, Irina,” Jack said smoothly, taking another sip of his drink. “You meant to have Il Dire for yourself.” He frowned slightly and handed her his napkin. “Please. Spare me your tears. Aren’t we past that by now?
You know, when I first knew you I was left with my heart proverbially torn out. The last time I met you my heart was literally torn out. When you left the first time, you took Sydney from me emotionally. The second time, your actions took her from me altogether. You’ll forgive me if I really don’t want to dance. Why don’t you simply tell me what you want from me?”
“What if I came to help you?”
Bought a ticket for a runaway train
Like a madman laughing at the rain
A little out of touch, a little insane
It's just easier than dealing with the pain
Jack almost smiled, sadly. “To help. Me.” He took another sip. “You came to me to spy on me for your country, Irina. You never told me what you were doing; I had to find that out for myself. When you returned, you came only for intelligence and Rambaldi artifacts.” He sighed. “I’m not saying that Sydney and I are meaningless to you, but all existing evidence suggests that we are a great deal less important to you than Rambaldi, power, knowledge, and control--Ah, here it is. Merci, Thomas,” he said. “I took the liberty of ordering for you, I hope you don’t mind. Vodka?”
Runaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I'm neither here nor there
“That’s not true. Everything in its time, Jack,” she said. “You know Sydney has surfaced?”
“Yes. Sloane’s reported on it to me,” Jack said, then a small, sour grimace passed over his face. “He’s rather disappointed in me for not predicting it for him.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“I have some control,” Jack said, simply. “She would have been in more danger if I sent someone for her.”
Runaway train, never coming back
Runaway train, tearing up the track
Runaway train, burning in my veins
I run away but it always seems the same
As the song reached its end, Jack’s hand tightened around his glass, but his eyes remained cold and steady. “Sydney’s in the CIA’s hands,” he said with a hint of satisfaction. “She’s much safer there. Before then, it was enough to know her life wasn’t in immediate danger. So what do you want? Your bargaining position isn’t strong--or you don’t want me to think it is . . . but Irina, I’m in a much better position to know . . . now . . .” and his eyes became shadowed.
“Very well, Jack. Why be Sloane’s partner? When you can partner with me?”
Jack stared at her. Finally an expression that was almost a smile, but was mostly extreme sadness crossed his face. “There are so many reasons,” he said.
“You know what Sloane is--” Irina began.
“He told me--he claims--everything he knows about Rambaldi. You can’t begin to claim that level of openness with me. Even when Sloane set me up as Emily’s potential kidnapper, he didn’t begin to manipulate me at the levels you have.”
“You think he’s told you everything,” Irina snorted.
“Not in the least,” Jack responded.
“Good. Has he told you the story of how he became Sydney’s godfather?”
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